


troubled by some foolish game

by pineconesandseafoam



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Miscommunication, Sharing a Bed, absolutely thrilling, i can't believe i get to use those tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineconesandseafoam/pseuds/pineconesandseafoam
Summary: Paul's brother is getting married. Paul, as a proud sibling, is thrilled.Paul, as a person who's supposed to bring a date to the wedding, is not.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 31
Kudos: 117





	troubled by some foolish game

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring: original characters that I've become too attached too, idiots flirting, and gratuitous overuse of italics and the word 'glance'.  
> Hope you enjoy!

“I’m not sure who’s more excited for this wedding—me or your brother!” Angela laughed, the sound tinny through Paul’s phone speaker. “He’s gotten so into it. I’m really glad. None of my other friends’ fiancés wanted to have anything to do with the planning!”

  
  


“Mike’s actually planning something?” Paul asked. “He really is a changed man, Angela.” 

  
  


She giggled nervously. “I hope that’s a good thing!”

  
  


Paul could hear the doubt in her voice. “Course it is!” he reassured her. “Couldn’t get the lad to do a thing when we were kids. He failed so many presentations because he would just throw them together the night before. You’re good for him, Ange.”

  
  


“Thanks, Paul.” She paused a moment before continuing, her voice taking on a teasing, sing-song quality. “So, Paul, how about you? None of us knew you were seeing anyone!”

  
  


His mind went blank. “What?” he asked a bit too loudly, startled. 

  
  


“You checked off the plus one on your invitation! Who’s this person you’ve been hiding from us all?”

  
  


He froze, flooded with a sense of dread. He _had_ checked the alone option, hadn’t he? Oh, Christ. _Tell her it was a mistake!_ “Uh, well, you know...” he chuckled nervously. “Better to keep you all in suspense, huh?”

  
  


“You McCartneys and your mysteries. Fine, but we’ll need a name soon, y’know, for the place cards and all that.”

  
  


_No, no, no, no—_ “Right, of course. I’ll get that to you soon.” 

  
  


“Take care, Paul. See you in a few weeks.”

  
  


“Bye, Angela. Say hi to Mike for me.”

  
  


Paul hung up the phone and it fell from his hands, landing on the ground with a clatter. His dog Martha lifted her head to investigate the noise. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He dropped his head in his hands with a groan, leaning back against the settee. 

  
  


“Fuck.”

  
  
  
  
  


“You really are an idiot, Paul.”

  
  


“Thank you for the words of constructive criticism, George!” Paul snapped desperately, pacing in front of his three mates. Martha had given up trying to trot beside him and sat on the ground near them, tail wagging as she watched him. “I’m so glad you’re contributing! Good suggestions; please, keep them up!”

  
  


“Christ, calm down, Paul,” Ritchie said. “It’s gonna be fine.”

  
  


“I _hardly_ think so,” he replied, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re not the one who needs someone to agree to go to a _wedding_ with you in three weeks! You don’t take someone to a wedding on the second bloody date!”

  
  


“Why didn’t you just tell her it was a mistake?” John asked. 

  
  


“Because I don’t do well under pressure, John!”

  
  


“Why don’t you call her back now?”

  
  


“Because that’s embarrassing!”

  
  


“So’s this,” George murmured, and Ritchie hid a grin behind his hand. 

  
  


“Look, okay, so you don’t want to ask a stranger to do this. Ask a friend!” Ritch suggested. “At least then you two will know each other, anyroad.”

  
  


Paul stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face them. 

  
  


“No,” George said immediately. “Paul, Ritchie is literally my date to the wedding. You’re not taking either of us.”

  
  


Paul looked to John. 

  
  


As soon as their eyes met, the amused smirk fell from John’s face. “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered.

  
  


“Actually, I think just some kissing and hand-holding would suffice,” Ritch said. 

  
  


“Please?” Paul begged. “It’s only for a few days. We can pretend to break up a month or two after the wedding is over, no hard feelings! I’m out of other options here, Johnny.” After a moment of hesitation, he added, “I’ll buy you a coffee if you say yes.”

  
  


John raised his eyebrows. 

  
  


“You’ll also get free food at the wedding.”

  
  


“Fine!” he huffed. “Fine, alright? But it better be a bloody good coffee.”

  
  


“Thank you!” Paul cried, wrapping him in a hug. 

  
  


“I hate you, Paul. I want you to know that,” John grumbled in his ear, returning the hug anyroad. 

  
  


“I can’t wait for the day we get to tell their grandchildren how they got together,” George said, and John flipped him the bird over Paul’s shoulder. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Remind me why you’re here?”

  
  


“Solely to be annoying,” George informed Paul, taking a sip from his coffee. 

  
  


“Of course.”

  
  


The café was a small, hole-in-the-wall sort of place. There were only a few other patrons aside from them—an elderly couple enjoying lunch, a few teenage girls chatting amongst themselves, a boy with headphones in and textbooks scattered on the surface around him. For once, the sun shone over Liverpool, streaming through the windows and lighting up the coffeehouse. 

  
  


“Alright, John, when do you think we should say we got together? I filled in the invitation about a month ago, so maybe three months before then? Four? I don’t—” he groaned, pressing his face into his hands. “How long do you wait before asking someone to a wedding?”

  
  


When he was met with no response, he glanced up to see John still sat in front of him with a faraway look in his eyes, deep in thought. After another minute, he straightened his shoulders and leant forward. “We got together in January,” he said, “on New Years at a party. We were talking about wanting to start off the year right. As we counted down, I told you I liked you, and you kissed me right at midnight. We’ve been together ever since.”

  
  


Paul raised his eyebrows. 

  
  


“What? You don’t like it?” John frowned, looking vaguely insulted. “I thought it was pretty good, if I do say so meself—”

  
  


“No, no! It’s great. It’s perfect.”

  
  


“So romantic,” Ritch cooed.

  
  


“Richard Starkey, I swear to God, I’ll throttle you.” John said, glaring at him, and Ritch held up his hands in defense. 

  
  


“Alright, alright, Lennon, we’ll stop.”

  
  


“Hang on, _we’ll_ stop? I’m perfectly happy continuing to make comments for the both of us, if you’re not allowed,” George suggested. 

  
  


“Let it be, Geo,” Ritchie said. George slumped back into his seat with a frown. 

  
  


“What else do we need?” John asked. 

  
  


“Well...what are your boundaries? I mean, we should probably hold hands, at the very least.” Paul said, blushing. “I don’t, y'know...I don’t know what you’re comfortable with beyond that.”

  
  


“We can kiss if we need to, but other than that I don’t see why we would. And don’t you dare use tongue, or I swear to God I’ll dump your sorry arse,” John said. 

  
  


“Aye, agreed,” Paul said. “Is...Is that it then? Do we need to decide anything else?”

  
  


John reached forward to fiddle with the leaves of the plant that sat on the table. “No, that should be about it,” he said. “Now, can we please change the subject?”

  
  


“Ritchie bought his suit for the wedding the other day,” George piped up and John groaned, head hitting the table with a thud. “He looks rather good in it, in me own opinion.”

  
  


“You’d say that about anything,” Paul said.

  
  


“He looks rather good in anything,” George replied, and Paul chuckled. 

  
  


They all continued talking for another hour or so, until John had to leave for work. “I’ll walk you out,” Paul offered, standing up with him. 

  
  


The two of them stepped out the doors into the warmth of the afternoon. “So, I suppose I’ll need to get a suit, then?” John asked. 

  
  


“Mimi doesn’t make you keep one in your wardrobe at all times?” Paul asked. 

  
  


“You’re probably right. She’s usually convinced I’ll need to go to a funeral or somethin’ on short notice.”

  
  


“Rather grim for the woman, don’t you think?”

  
  


“I don’t think she expected me to be invited to a wedding anytime soon,” he said. 

  
  


Paul bumped his shoulder against John’s. “Oh, come on, you? You’re a real catch, Johnny.”

  
  


“Alright, Macca, you’ve got to wait a few weeks still,” John teased. 

  
  


“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later, John.”

  
  


“Bye, Paul.”

  
  


As John’s engine began to start up, Paul swung open the car door and dropped into his seat with a sigh. What the _hell_ had he just gotten himself into?

  
  
  
  
  


“Should we be getting home now, Ritchie?” George asked. 

  
  


“Might as well,” he said, quickly draining the last of his drink. The two of them stood and left, the bell over the door chiming as they stepped outside. Ritchie wrapped an arm around George’s waist, and George instinctively rested his arm on his shoulder. “This ought to be an interesting wedding.”

  
  


George snorted. “You think?”

  
  


“God, they’re going to ruin it, aren’t they?”

  
  


“For themselves or for Mike?”

  
  


“I will be bloody furious if they stop being friends after this. They’re going to break up the group!”

  
  


“You think they’ll break up?”

  
  


“Those two?” Ritchie shook his head. “They’re as stubborn as they come. I can’t see a way it _won’t_ end in disaster.”

  
  


“I think it’ll finally make them get their head out of their arses and start actually dating.”

  
  


“Really? I doubt it.”

  
  


“Ten pounds says they’re dating by the end of the wedding,” George said, holding out his hand.

  
  


Ritch shook it. “Deal.” As they both got in the car, he added, “But we’re going to stay out of their way as much as possible, right?”

  
  


“Oh, God,” George groaned, and Ritchie laughed.

  
  


“I’ll take that as a yes.”

  
  
  
  
  


Paul took a deep breath, pacing back and forth in his apartment. He held his mobile phone tightly in between his hands. Martha followed him with curious eyes, tail wagging. 

  
  


“Come on, Paul,” he muttered to himself. “You can do it. Just one simple phone call, that’s all. And then it’s over and done with, until...well, until you actually have to show up to the wedding, and fake-date your best friend while also helping your brother, and—”

  
  


This was not calming him down. 

  
  


Maybe he ought to just call. 

  
  


He quickly tapped out his brother’s phone number and held it up to his ear. It rang a few times before he heard a click and a “Hello?”

  
  


“Hey, Mikey.”

  
  


“Paul! How’s it going?”

  
  


“Alright, alright, how about you? How’s the wedding planning?”

  
  


“Excellent!” He said, and Paul could just _hear_ him grinning. “I’m just so excited, you know? Angie’s been handling a lot of it, but I’ve been trying to help her, too. That woman, though...she can do anything, I swear to God.”

  
  


Paul laughed. “Listen, I just wanted to call you to tell you...Angela had been asking after the name of my guest for the wedding?”

  
  


“Oh, right!” Mike said. “Of course, she’s been trying to figure out who the lucky girl is for a month. You finally gonna tell us, Paulie?”

  
  


“Yes, the name’s, uh...” Paul cleared his throat. “It’s John.”

  
  


For a moment, all Paul could hear was the soft crackle of static from the other end. “I—oh!” Mike said. “John? _John Lennon_?”

  
  


“Yes.”

  
  


“Like...that old childhood mate of yours? _John Lennon_?”

  
  


Paul cringed. “Yes.”

  
  


Mike began to laugh. “Oh my God, Paul,” he said. “Da’s going to kill you.”

  
  
  
  
  


The train station was absolutely packed. Business owners brushed past them in well-tailored suits, talking urgently on mobile phones. Frazzled-looking mothers spoke to their children, trying to stop them from running off. A couple of exhausted looking teenagers stood, carrying bags that looked heavier than they were. John stood in the middle of the bustle, one hand clutching his ticket and the other gripping the handle of his luggage, feeling completely overwhelmed. 

  
  


“Christ, this place is busy in the mornings,” he said. 

  
  


“You think?” Paul asked, scanning the signs to find their platform. 

  
  


He shouldered his way past another couple, saying their goodbyes in a display of affection that John thought was really rather _too much_ for a public space. “Yes, well, I don’t love to spend a whole lot of time in trai—slow down, Macca, Christ! I can’t keep up!”

  
  


Paul reached behind him and grabbed onto John’s hand, pulling him forward and nearly tearing the ticket right out of his grasp. John felt his face flush and decided to stop talking. 

  
  


Paul dragged him towards a platform and the two of them boarded the train. It wasn’t until they found their seats that Paul finally let go of his hand. John frowned, shoving his suitcase under the seat. “What was that for?”

  
  


“You couldn’t keep up. I was only helping you. Besides,” he added, straightening up and sitting down in the seat next to John, “might as well start practicing now.”

  
  


John rolled his eyes. “Why do we have to leave so early, anyroad? Ritchie and Geo aren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

  
  


“Me Da wanted me to help out with some of the last minute preparations. Thought I’d be a good son and go help, and there’s no sense in us coming at different times; it’ll only seem suspicious.” 

  
  


“So what’ll I be doing in this time, then?”

  
  


“Helping us,” Paul said. “Don’t think you get to slack off that much, Lennon.”

  
  


“Well, he’s certainly not my brother; hardly see why I should set up,” he teased. 

  
  


“It’s that or amuse my aunts. They’re all pretty flirtatious, though, I must warn you.” His eyes flicked over John. “Hm. You’re just their type, too. What, with the Buddy Holly glasses and all.”

  
  


“Alright, alright, I’ll help set up the bloody wedding,” he grumbled. Paul grinned at him, then ducked down to his bag. John stared at him with a raised eyebrow until he finally straightened up again, novel in one hand and earbuds in another. 

  
  


“What’ve you got that for?”

  
  


“It’s a bit of a long ride to be doing nothing for, wouldn’t you say?” At John’s confused look, he said, “We’ve got about five hours before we reach Swansea.” John’s expression grew more confused, and he continued, a little hesitantly, “John, you do know we’re going to Wales, right?”

  
  


“No?” John yelled, incredulous. 

  
  


“Ah.”

  
  


“I feel like it’s your responsibility to tell me we’re going to bleedin’ _Swansea_ before we’re already leaving the station! I would have brought something to do!”

  
  


“It’s on your damn ticket! You’ve got your sketchbook; put that art degree to use, John.”

  
  


“Wanker,” John muttered, pointedly ignoring his suggestion. 

  
  


Paul sighed and held out an earbud towards John. “Here,” he said, smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “If you’re going to be a _child_ about it, we can listen to music together. 

  
  


John accepted the earbud, still pouting. Paul began to scroll through on his phone, searching for the right song. Finally, he tapped something and placed it back on the armrest between the two of them, slouching down into his seat and opening his book. 

  
  


“ _Blue days, black nights,_ ” Buddy Holly sang, “ _blue tears keep on fallin’ for you, dear; now you’re gone._ ”

  
  


John could see Paul sneaking a look at him out of the corner of his eye, biting back a grin. John scrunched up his nose and made a face at him, and Paul’s shoulders began to shake. “I’m just saying—Auntie Millie really has a thing for thick glasses,” he said. 

  
  


“I hate you,” John said, tugging the glasses off his face, and Paul threw his head back and laughed, loud and bright. John couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face at the sight. He had been so stressed lately, between trying to get someone to cover his classes while he was away and trying to convince his neighbours to care for Martha while he was away. 

  
  


It was just so damn _nice_ to see Paul happy. 

  
  
  
  
  


At about the one hour mark, John finally gave in and pulled his sketchbook out of his bag. He tugged the nub of a pencil out from where it was jammed in the spiral of the sketchbook and began to look for something to draw.

  
  


The search proved to be more difficult than expected. 

  
  


The train itself was relatively drab—nothing very exciting other than the rather suspiciously rust-coloured stain on the fabric of the seat in front of him, the one that he had spent the entire trip trying (and failing) not to think too deeply about. The view outside of the window might have been nice, but even if John did put his glasses back on the train was moving too fast for him to see it well anyroad, much less draw it. That really left only one subject: Paul. 

  
  


He knew his mate’s face well enough to do a few sketches of him as a warmup, but after the fifth doodle he was starting to get restless again. He flipped open to a new page and began to examine Paul’s face. 

  
  


After a few seconds, Paul heaved a sigh and turned to face him. “What?”

  
  


“Don’t move,” he replied. 

  
  


“I’d love to know why you’re staring at me face like _that_ before I take me eyes off you again,” Paul said, somewhere in between nervous and amused and exasperated. 

  
  


“I’m trying to draw you, but it’s rather difficult when you keep movin’ your face about.”

  
  


He furrowed his eyebrows. “Since when do you need a reference?”

  
  


“Since I’m trying to draw you realistically! Pick a position and stay still,” he huffed. Paul shook his head, seeming to have settled on amused, and began to read again. John began to set to work, Paul’s playlist joined by the soft sounds of his pencil scratching against the paper. 

  
  


It didn’t take him long before he remembered why he decided not to go down the realistic study path. It was hard, between his squinting at the features that were just on the edge of being blurry, and trying to get those onto the page without being blurry, and Christ, he had forgotten how fucking difficult _proportions_ had been to draw.

  
  


He was still working on trying to get the shape of the eyebrow right when he felt something against his shoulder. He looked down to see Paul, eyes closed, resting against him. His novel lay forgotten in his lap. John smiled, closing his sketchbook. “Can’t draw you if I can’t see your face, Macca,” he whispered, to no reply. He smoothed down a few hairs on the side of Paul’s head that had been sticking up. 

  
  


The opening notes to a slow, smooth song began to filter in through his earbuds. “ _Wise men say,_ ” Elvis crooned.

  
  


John pulled his hand back like he’d been burnt. “Sorry,” he mumbled, flustered. “I didn’t—well, you were—I was just fixing it for you.”

  
  


Paul kept sleeping.

  
  


“Right,” John whispered. “Right, well, I...” He let out a sigh.

  
  


This was going to be a long wedding. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Paul? Paul.”

  
  


Paul huffed out a sigh and buried his face deeper into...whatever he was resting on. He was comfortable. Why was someone trying to disturb him? 

  
  


A hand roughly shook his arm. “ _Macca_! Jesus Christ.”

  
  


“What? What?” Paul shot up from his seat to see John staring at him expectantly. 

  
  


John’s glare broke for a second as he snickered. “You’ve got lines from me jacket on your face.”

  
  


“I’ve—what?” Paul scrubbed at his cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t mean...”

  
  


“No, it’s fine. We’re in Swansea now.”

  
  


“Oh, perfect.” Paul began to grab his luggage form under the seat. “Mike should be there to pick us up outside the station, and then he’ll drive us out to the house.”

  
  


“Why are we going to Wales, again? Doesn’t your family all live in Liverpool and Ireland?” John asked, standing up to follow Paul off the train. 

  
  


“Angela—that’s Mikey’s fiancée—has loads of family from Wales, and it was easier to get everyone to Wales than to Ireland. Cheaper, too, I suspect.” Paul reached out and grabbed John’s hand, and John recoiled almost immediately. 

  
  


“Christ, Macca, your hands are _freezing_!”

  
  


“No, they’re not!”

  
  


“Yes, they are!”

  
  


“Well, maybe your hands are unusually _hot_ , huh? Ever think of that?” Paul challenged. 

  
  


John raised his eyebrows flirtatiously, and Paul immediately knew he had made a mistake. “You think my hands are hot, then, do you?”

  
  


“Shut up,” he hissed. “That is _not_ what I meant.”

  
  


“I mean, so many people fawn over guitar players’ hands,” John said. “I suppose I can see it. Well then, my darling Macca, I suppose I simply *must* warm up your freezing hands with my exceptionally _hot_ ones then.” 

  
  


“Prick. I’m breaking up with you.”

  
  


“Not before the wedding, dear!” John reached out for his hand again, interlocking their fingers this time. His hands were rather warm, and Paul almost thought it felt...kinda nice. Almost. Really, it was only because he always had such cold hands. Of course warm hands felt nice. That was all it was.

  
  


Really. 

  
  


The station in Swansea was a lot less busy than the one in Liverpool, and they navigated their way through the crowds far easier. Once outside, Paul began to scan the parking lot for his brother.

  
  


“Does, er...” John began. “Does your Da know I’m coming?”

  
  


“Right, well, uh, about that—”

  
  


“Paul!” A hand waved wildly above the heads of other passengers, and within seconds Paul saw his younger brother running towards them. “Paul! Over here!”

  
  


“Mikey!” Paul shouted, glad to leave the conversation about his father. He would deal with that once they arrived at the house, and no sooner. _God, this was going to be a disaster._ “Alright, Mike?”

  
  


Mike hugged his brother tightly. “Never been better!” He said, and pulled back with a grin. “And John! Long time, no see!”

  
  


John let go of his bag to shake Mike’s hand. “Good to see you again, Mike.”

  
  


“Aye! Well, then, just throw your things in the boot and we can get going. The car’s this way.” Mike began to lead them out into the parking lot. “It’s not a long drive to Angie’s grandma’s, so you should be able to see everyone in no time. Auntie Jin’s already arrived with her little one, and Auntie Edie and Uncle Ernie should be coming later this evening with Auntie Milly...”

  
  


It may have been a short ride from the station to the house, but it felt nearly as long as the train ride itself. Mike chatted about this and that. Paul tried to be enthusiastic in his responses, but he could tell John was getting restless in the seat beside him. Finally, they pulled up in front of an old brick house. 

  
  


“We’re here!” Mike said cheerily, climbing out of the car. 

  
  


“Perfect. This should be grand, yeah?” John asked in a mock-cheery voice. Anxiety pinched his expression. 

  
  


“It’ll be fine, Johnny, relax,” Paul said, grabbing John’s hand and squeezing it tight.

  
  


John gave him a funny look. “Mike’s not even in the car. What the hell’re you doing that for?”

  
  


“Trying to comfort you, you git. Come on, let’s get in the house.” Paul unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car. He heard John slam the door behind him as he grabbed the suitcases from the boot. 

  
  


Mike swung open the door to the house. “Paul’s here!” He shouted. 

  
  


Paul could hear the faint sound of small footsteps from the floor above him. A little girl appeared at the top of the stairs, panting lightly. “Paulie!” She cried.

  
  


“Reese!” He said, crouching down and opening his arms. She ran straight towards him and he lifted her up into a hug. Mike slipped past him quietly, grabbing their suitcases as he went. “It's been too long! Can’t believe we have to go to a wedding just to see each other, huh?” 

  
  


She giggled, throwing her arms tightly around his neck. Paul turned back to John. “Johnny, this is my cousin, Reese.”

  
  


“Hello,” John said nervously, waving at her. 

  
  


She turned to Paul. “Who’s he?” she mumbled in his ear. 

  
  


“This is John, luv. He’s, er, he’s my boyfriend.” Paul glanced at John, who fluttered his eyelashes obnoxiously. Paul rolled his eyes. “Alright, Reese. Why don’t you show us where everyone is, yeah?”

  
  


“Okay,” she said. He put her back onto the ground and she grabbed his hand, pulling him forward. Paul motioned desperately for John to follow him as Reese ran ahead. John smirked, trailing slowly after the two of them. 

  
  


Reese took him to the lounge, where all the adults were sat around the room on various settees and chairs. The room was decorated eclectically in reds and oranges, with quilts thrown across the backs of seats. Paul’s father, Jim, was talking with Mike and Auntie Jin. Angela, her parents, and her grandmother sat in a cluster, chatting amongst themselves. Auntie Jin glanced over to them as Reese and Paul burst through the doorway. 

  
  


“Reese, _leanbh_ , _how_ many times have I told you not to run around?” She looked up. “Paul, dear, so nice to see you! It’s been a while.”

  
  


“Nice to see you too, Auntie Jin.”

  
  


Paul’s father stood up to give him a hug. “Good train ride over, then?”

  
  


“Yeah, Da, not too bad.”

  
  


“Where’s your plus-one, Paul?” Angela asked from the corner of the room with a giggle. Her and Mike exchanged glances. 

  
  


Paul was going to die of embarrassment. Or from his Da, who was sure to kill him when he discovered that his son’s partner was the very boy he’d been grumbling about for nine years. 

  
  


“Yes, do we finally get to meet this lovely date you’ve been hiding from us, Paul?” Jim teased.

  
  


“Yeah, erm...hold that thought.” Paul cringed. Louder, he called, “You find us yet, luv?”

  
  


John popped his head around the corner. “There you are! Thought I could keep up with the little one—Reese, was it?— but I got a bit turned around. Hello, everyone.” He stood next to Paul with a grin. The rest of the room stared at him. 

  
  


“John Lennon?” Jim asked, and _that was not usually a look reserved for happy occasions_. 

  
  


“Good to see you, Mr. McCartney! How’ve you been? Well?” At the lack of a reply, he tried, “Not well?”

  
  


Paul elbowed him harshly in the ribs. “Yes, er, right. Da, you know John.”

  
  


“Good start, Paulie,” Mike said from his seat on the settee. Angela clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh. Paul shot his brother a look. 

  
  


Jim examined John up and down. “I see now why you didn’t tell us you were dating anyone.” 

  
  


“Da, I know you have a bit of a...well, something, with John, but he’s grown up since you’ve last seen him, y’know,” Paul tried. 

  
  


“Has he?”

  
  


“Well, er, a little, at least.” 

  
  


After another moment of staring John down, Jim sighed. Paul could feel the tension drain from John’s shoulders. “If he makes you happy,” Jim said. 

  
  


“Welcome to the family, John,” Mike cheered, and Angela raised her glass in a mock toast. 

  
  


“Let’s not go that far,” Jim teased, walking back towards the settee, and everyone laughed. 

  
  


Paul and John exchanged a look. _‘Sorry,’_ Paul mouthed, and John shook his head in reply, eyes narrowed jokingly, and followed him to the nearest seat. 

  
  
  
  
  


The day was filled with various preparations—getting the venue ready, picking up orders for things, and making sure everything was in place. Somewhere around six, Paul’s other relatives had arrived, and at seven they finally gave in for the day. 

  
  


“Who wants pizza?” Angela asked, slumped against Mike. 

  
  


There was a chorus of various affirmative answers, and she tugged her mobile out of her pocket. “Any special requests?”

  
  


Reese, who was resting on the ground at Paul’s feet, motioned for him to bend down. She leant in and murmured, “The best flavour is ham and pineapple.”

  
  


“You’re wrong,” John responded, leaning down to her. “It’s sausage.”

  
  


“You’re daft,” she told him without hesitation, and Paul smothered a laugh as John pretended to gasp. 

  
  


“Reese, luv, I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate to say to someone,” Paul said. 

  
  


“Hurt me feelings, you did,” John said with an over-exaggerated pout. 

  
  


“Well, that’s a shame,” she said, and turned back around. 

  
  


Paul hid his face in John’s shoulders, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Oh my God,” he mumbled. “I’m so proud.”

  
  


“Spectacular,” John snickered from above him. “I want thirty of them.” 

  
  


The pizzas arrived after half an hour or so, and they all settled in to eat. Reese sat next to John, putting a large slice of ham and pineapple on her plate with a big grin at him. He smiled and shook his head. “Sharp lass,” he murmured.

  
  


“So, Paul,” Auntie Milly began, and Paul cringed; here came the interrogation. _At least we talked about everything beforehand._ “How long have you two been together?”

  
  


“Since January,” he said. “On the first, actually.”

  
  


“How did the two of you get together?”

  
  


“New Year’s is always a time for new beginnings, I think,” John said. “So a few minutes before midnight, we were talking through some old secrets and whatnot, and I thought, _‘Well, now’s a good a time as any,’_ and I told him I was in love with him. He seemed shocked, of course, but didn’t say anything on the subject, so I assumed that was his way of letting me down easy.”

  
  


“Little did he know, I had felt the same way,” Paul butted in jokingly. 

  
  


“As soon as the countdown was over, right as the clock struck midnight, _‘kiss your loved ones,’_ and all that, he kissed me.” Paul’s aunts gave the two of them dreamy smiles. “We talked it through the next morning, and we’ve been happily dating ever since.”

  
  


“Isn’t that lovely?” Auntie Milly said. “And are you two living together?”

  
  


_ Shit. _

  
  


“No,” Paul said. 

  
  


“Yes,” John said at the exact same time. 

  
  


Auntie Milly raised her eyebrows, and Paul felt John kick him under the table. “Ah, we, er—well,” he stammered. “I’ve still got me own place, but I spend so much time at his that we might as well be living together.”

  
  


“Would save on bills to just do it,” Auntie Jin said with a wink, and turned to talk to Jim. 

  
  


“She’s right, y’know,” John said, resting his hand on his chin and raising an eyebrow at Paul. 

  
  


“Shove off,” he responded, and took another bite of his pizza. 

  
  
  
  
  


The night really had been going okay, other than the one minor slip up about their living situation; Mike and Angela received most of the attention, anyroad. After Auntie Jin put Reese to bed, the adults moved back into the lounge and broke out the alcohol. 

  
  


John couldn’t help but be distracted by Paul’s aunt, Jin. She was a tall woman, with fiery red hair and an even fierier attitude, a few years younger then Jim. She had a warm smile, bright pink with lipstick and impossibly joyful. 

  
  


She was just like Julia, and something deep in his chest twisted every time he looked at her. 

  
  


He took another sip of the wine in his hand and tried to think of anything but Julia. 

  
  


He had been doing a fairly decent job of keeping his mind carefully blank, staring off in the distance, when a pair of chapped lips pressed against his cheek. It was such a tender gesture, soft and sweet and intimate, that he nearly melted against the form beside him before remembering exactly who it was. That was enough to jolt back to the present. The entire room was staring at him. He glanced to his left to see Paul flash him a quick, apologetic smile before saying, “Ready to go to bed, Johnny?”

  
  


He sighed. “Yeah, really ought to. Sorry, everyone, it’s been a long day.”

  
  


They all chuckled. “Don’t worry, dear,” Milly said. “Mike and Angela are heading up, too, and the rest of us will be following any minute, now. They can show you two your room.” 

  
  


John looked frantically at Paul as they stood up. _‘How long was I gone?’_ he mouthed, but Paul just furrowed his brow in confusion and shook his head. John sighed, and the two of them began to follow Mike and Angela up the stairs. 

  
  


“This one’s you,” Mike said, gesturing at the first door to his right. “The loo’s the door two in front of yours. I brought your bags up earlier, as well.”

  
  


“Thanks,” Paul said. “See you two in the morning?”

  
  


Angela raised her eyebrows, squeezing Mike’s arm. “Works for us!”

  
  


Paul shook his head with a grin and walked in, John trailing behind him. As soon as the door closed, Paul grabbed his elbow. “You alright, John?”

  
  


“I...yeah, fine. Why?”

  
  


“You were gone for a long time.” He squinted at his face for a few seconds, as though he couldn’t quite make it out. John was about to make a quip about that being his thing, not Paul’s, when Paul said, “Sorry about this kiss. Couldn’t get your attention.” 

  
  


“No, no it’s fine. We said it was fine.”

  
  


“Right.” Paul nodded and finally backed up from John. It was only then that he realised just how close they’d been, and he began to flush. Paul seemed to come to the same realisation, and turned around quickly. “Well, I—oh.”

  
  


“What?” John followed Paul’s gaze. “Oh,” he repeated numbly. 

  
  


There was only one bed.

  
  


Of _course_ , there was only one bed. They were a couple who, apparently, had been practically _living_ together for months. Of course they would share a bed. 

  
  


“It’s fine,” Paul said. “I can sleep on the floor, it’s okay—”

  
  


“Don’t be stupid, Paul,” John said, bending over to rummage about in his suitcase. “We can just share. Did it all the time when we were teens, like.”

  
  


“I know, I just meant—y’know, because we’re supposed to—”

  
  


“It’s just a bloody bed, Paul,” he snapped, straightening up with his pajamas in hand. “Christ, it’s not that big of a deal.”

  
  


“Right,” Paul said, and sighed. “Of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  
  


“It’s fine,” John said, and he left for the loo to get changed. 

  
  


After he had gotten changed, he quickly glanced in the mirror and winced. There were deep bags under his eyes, and his hair was beginning to fall out of its usual style. He looked a right mess. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though, so he splashed some water on his face, smoothed down his hair, and headed back towards the bedroom.

  
  


Paul was already dressed and in the bed when he arrived back. John sat on the edge of the bed and began to put his clothes away as Paul chewed on the edge of his thumbnail. “I am sorry, Johnny,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make a deal out of it. I just...I know this is kind of a lot right now, and I wasn’t sure if you minded.”

  
  


John sighed, moving to lie down in the bed. “It’s alright, Macca,” he said. 

  
  


“Okay,” Paul whispered, turning off the lamp beside the bed. The room fell into darkness. After what couldn’t have been more than a minute, he whispered, “John?”

  
  


“Yes, Macca?” 

  
  


He hesitated a moment, and John glanced over his shoulder to squint at him through the darkness. “What was bothering you? Earlier, when we were all talking. I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I just wanted to ask...are you okay?”

  
  


John paused for a moment to legitimately consider the question, for Paul’s sake. He sounded worried. “I’ll be fine, Paul,” he said. “Just...some old memories. Give me brain eight hours of sleep and it’ll all be forgotten.”

  
  


Paul didn’t say anything for a long while, and John assumed he had fallen asleep. He was just about to do the same himself when a hand reached out for his, entangling their fingers. John smiled and squeezed it once, and it squeezed back, and finally, he drifted off to sleep. 

  
  
  
  
  


Paul awoke to a warmth on his face and a weight on his chest. He opened his eyes and blinked once, twice, until the room cleared in front of him. A pale beam of sunlight shone in through a crack in the curtains. The clock beside him read 5:32. He could hear the muffled chirp of a bird from outside his window. 

  
  


He closed his eyes and fell back asleep, a soft smile on his face. 

  
  
  
  
  


His second awakening was far less pleasant. 

  
  


An alarm buzzed, whiny and loud, directly into his ear. He groaned. 

  
  


“Turn that bloody thing off, will you?” John asked. Paul grumbled something unintelligible and swatted at the clock until it stopped blaring. John buried his face deeper into Paul’s chest.

  
  


Wait, _what_?

  
  


The two of them came to the same realisation at the same time, both shooting upright. John stared at Paul with wide, nervous eyes. The clock ticked away, the only sound to break the pressing silence in the room. John opened his mouth.

  
  


There was a loud bang at the door. 

  
  


“Christ,” Paul gasped, breaking the stare. 

  
  


“You two up yet?” Mike called.

  
  


“Bloody well are now,” John mumbled, slumping back down.

  
  


“Give us a mo’!” Paul shouted, turning to his bag and grabbing his clothes. He pointedly did not look at John. The sheets began to rustle, and Paul assumed he was going to do the same. 

  
  


“I—” John started, and then paused again. Paul rolled his eyes, tugging off his pajama shirt. “That, uh—I don’t—I didn’t mean to, y’know—”

  
  


“Bloody hell, John,” Paul snapped.

  
  


“Well, we should talk about this, shouldn’t we?”

  
  


“I’d really rather not. We’ve got things to do, Lennon.” He has been comfortable. Why in God’s name had that been _comfortable_? 

  
  


It was just some automatic response. Yes, that had to be all it was. What was the big deal, anyroad? They were mates. This was all fine. He was doing just _fine_. 

  
  


“Paul,” John tried, grabbing his shoulder, and he flinched. The touch had felt like fire, all too much. 

  
  


Paul grabbed his toiletries from his bag. “I’m going to go brush my teeth,” he muttered. He made it to the door and grasped the cold, metal handle, before he sighed and turned around. John looked confused and upset, and Paul felt like a bit of an arsehole. Maybe he had overreacted a _little_. This was all just so _weird_. But as much as it sucked for Paul, it had to be twice as bad for John. He wanted to apologise, to smooth out the wrinkle between John’s eyebrows and tell him he was sorry and that he was maybe the only person in the world who understood. 

  
  


But he didn’t know how to do that.

  
  


“It’s okay, Johnny,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. “Really, it’s fine. Just finish getting dressed and I’ll meet you back here, yeah?”

  
  


John nodded. 

  
  


Paul nodded and gave him a smile that felt too tight on his face before leaving the room. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Is there anything we can do to help?”

  
  


People bustled around them, heading this way and that, trying to get things ready for the next day. Paul had no idea what any of them could possibly be doing. Two people were shouting in Welsh (Angela’s relatives, Paul assumed, unless his family had recently taken up an affinity for the language) at each other from across the room. Paul and John stood in the corner, talking with Mike, who was looking increasingly frazzled by the minute. 

  
  


“Christ,” he said. “I honestly don’t know. There’s so many people doing things right now that it might be worth it for you guys to just relax and stay out of the way.”

  
  


Auntie Jin stopped on her way to the kitchen and took a few steps back to talk with them. “If you’re offering,” she said, “I’m sure Reese could use some company? I asked her to stay upstairs so she wouldn’t get underfoot, but I think she’s a little lonely. She likes you, Paul, and she sure has taken up quite the liking to John too, it seems.”

  
  


“We can do that,” John said. “Right, babe?”

  
  


In all their years of teasing nicknames and flirtatious pet names, they had never called each other ‘babe’ before. Paul felt his heartbeat stutter. Christ, he hadn’t realised he was stressed enough to give himself some sort of goddamn _arrhythmia_.

  
  


“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

  
  


“Perfect! Thank you so much. She’s the third room to your left up the stairs; that’s the room we’re staying in.” Auntie Jin squeezed Paul’s shoulder once before hurrying off to whatever she had been doing before. Mike raised his eyebrows and left after her.

  
  


John turned to face Paul. “We got stuck with babysitting duty?”

  
  


“She’s a good kid,” Paul said defensively. “Would you rather argue with Angela’s grandmother about flower arrangements?” 

  
  


“Touché.” 

  
  


The two of them left in search of Reese. After only a small amount of bickering (“First door on the left, John.” “Third door, Macca; haven’t you learnt to listen to your elders yet?”), they found Reese in heer room (“Told you.” “Shut up, John.”) sulking. A doll lay in front of her, forgotten. Her chin was rested in her hand and she pouted at the floor. 

  
  


“Reese?” Paul asked, pushing the door open wider, and she perked up almost immediately. 

  
  


“Paul?”

  
  


“Hi, luv,” he said. “Look who I brought with me.” 

  
  


She grinned. “Hi.”

  
  


“Hello,” John said nervously, taking a step into the room. Paul sat cross-legged on the floor and John followed suit. “What are you up to?”

  
  


“ _Nothing_ ,” she huffed emphatically, shifting closer to the two men. “I’m so _bored_.”

  
  


“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” John asked, shoulders beginning to relax from the hunched position they had been in before. “What would you like to do? Anything you can dream of! As long as it’s under two thousand rubles.”

  
  


She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t know what a ruble is.”

  
  


“Don’t worry about him, luv; he thinks he’s being funny,” Paul said, and John stuck his tongue out at him. “What do you want to do?”

  
  


“Well, I wanna go to the playground, but Mummy said I couldn’t go because all the adults are busy.” Reese slumped against the bed before perking back up almost immediately. “But you two are adults!”

  
  


“Debatable,” John mumbled, and Paul elbowed him. 

  
  


“Can we go to the playground? Please?” she begged, staring up at them with wide, brown eyes. 

  
  


Paul wanted to bring up the fact that they should probably talk to Auntie Jin before taking her anywhere, and also that they didn’t actually know where the park was, anyroad, but the longer she stared at them the more he could feel his heart melt. One glance at John, who looked enraptured as Paul felt, cemented his decision. “Fine,” Paul said. “Get your mac and shoes, and we’ll head to the playground.” 

  
  


She cheered in delight, jumping to her feet and throwing an arm around both of their shoulders. Before they could even react, she was letting go and running out the door. “Hurry up!” She called after them.

  
  


“The real adults are going to kill us,” John said. Paul cussed under his breath and stood up, holding out a hand to help John up. The two of them took off after Reese, not letting go of each others’ hands. 

  
  


They caught up with her right as she brushed past a rather concerned group of adults. Paul winced as he noticed Auntie Jin in the cluster. “Hello Paul,” she said, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Are you taking Reese somewhere?”

  
  


“Just to the playground,” John said, bending down to shove on his shoes. 

  
  


“Hope that’s okay,” Paul added. 

  
  


Auntie Jin looked rather flustered. “Well, I—”

  
  


“Paul! I don’t want to wear my mac, it’s not raining outside!” Reese huffed.

  
  


“I know, but it could start. And it might get chilly out, with the wind. Tell you what—you don’t have to wear it right away, but if you get cold or it starts to rain, you put it on, okay?” Paul reasoned. Reese considered for a few seconds before nodding, tucking the jacket over her arm. Paul turned back to Auntie Jin. “It should be fine, Jin, really. John and I will watch her, and we’ve both got our mobiles. John, d’you have your mobile?”

  
  


“Yes, Macca.”

  
  


“See?”

  
  


Jin bit her lip before sighing. “Fine, but be safe. And don’t run away from Paul and John, okay?” she said, pointing a finger at Reese. The little girl nodded, and her mother tapped her on the nose. “Have fun.”

  
  


“We will!” 

  
  


Paul quickly finished tying his shoes and straightened up to find John and Reese both staring at him, matching expectant looks on their face, although John’s had a bit of a sarcastic smirk to it. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  
  


“Aye,” John said.

  
  


Reese glanced up at him and giggled. “Aye,” she mimicked in a gruff, rather poor Scouse accent. 

  
  


Paul bit back a grin. “Alright, you two. Come on, then.”

  
  


He opened the door and ushered the two of them out, closing it softly behind him. He hadn’t noticed how loud the din of the house was until they were outside, in the soft quiet of the day. The sun shone down, but the wind held a cold bite to it, and Reese sheepishly tugged her jacket on. There was nobody they knew around, so there was a space in between Paul and John that was incredibly apparent to him. He felt a small tug from deep within his chest, a shape akin to sadness. Before he could analyse it too deeply, he felt a hand clasp his. He glanced down to see Reese, holding Paul’s hand in one of her own and John’s hand in the other, skipping along between them. Paul squeezed her hand tight and glanced at John with a grin only to find him staring at Paul, already smiling. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Oh my God, Auntie Jin’s going to fucking kill me.”

  
  


Paul watched in horror from a park bench as Reese dusted off her knees and began to scale the monkey bars for the third time. His protests at her attempts to climb to the top had gotten her closer to tears than when she had fallen, so John had talked him out of trying to stop her again. John’s heart was beating a little faster at some of the dangerous stunts the young girl seemed to be attempting, but it was nothing compared to the death grip Paul was crushing his arm in. 

  
  


“She’s going to die. Oh my God, we’re going to be in the news, John. They’re going to fucking arrest us.”

  
  


“Relax, Paulie, it’ll be fine,” John tried. “Kids are resilient. Worst case scenario, she breaks a bone.”

  
  


The hold on his arm grew tighter. 

  
  


“Ow, ow, Christ, Macca!”

  
  


“Sorry!” Paul’s clutch did not loosen. 

  
  


Reese finally made it on top of the monkey bars. She glanced back at them, glowing with pride, and John gave her a thumbs up with his free hand. She grinned and began to hook her feet under the first bar. 

  
  


“Reese, luv, what are you doing now?” Paul asked. John knew exactly what she was trying to do—had done it himself a million times as a kid. That didn’t stop his worry. 

  
  


She waved him off. “Don’t worry! My friends at school do this all the time!” She began to lay down on top of the bars, and John heard her mutter, “I think it’s this?” under her breath. He became exponentially more concerned. 

  
  


She ducked her body underneath the bars, holding on. “No,” Paul gasped, “no, no, no, I can’t watch.” He turned and buried his face into John’s shoulder. John automatically wrapped his arm around Paul. The only thing that kept him from doing the same was his responsibility to witness what was happening. 

  
  


(To give his report to the police, his mind added helpfully.)

  
  


She let go of the bar above her and for a fleeting moment her body dropped, head first, towards the ground, her fate in the arms of gravity. Alas, her hooked knees held, and she swung back and forth, shirt slipping down her stomach. She let out a laugh of pure glee—John let out a sigh of pure relief. 

  
  


“Look!” She shouted. “D’you see me? Did you see that? I did it!” 

  
  


“You sure did, didn’t you?” John gushed. “Paul, would you look at that?”

  
  


The head buried in his shoulder shook back and forth rapidly. 

  
  


“Paulie?” Reese asked. “John, why won’t he look?”

  
  


“Y’know, I think he’s a little scared,” John said. “He’s not as brave as you or I are.”

  
  


He heard a muffled, “ _Hey!_ ” and chuckled. 

  
  


“That’s an absolutely fab trick, Reese,” John said. “Great to show all your schoolmates. But why don’t we try the swings now, yeah? I think we’re about to give Paulie here an aneurysm.”

  
  


“What’s an aneurysm?” She asked, grabbing hold of the bar above her and swinging her legs down. 

  
  


“Bad,” John replied.

  
  


She landed on the ground, wood chips scattering around her feet. Paul winced.

  
  


“It’s okay, luv,” John murmured. “She’s fine.”

  
  


Paul lifted his head, eyes still wide with nerves as he stared up at John. He looked so endearingly concerned that John couldn’t help but grin, smoothing down a few stray hairs. Paul risked a glance to the playground. As soon as he saw Reese making a mad dash toward the swingsets, his shoulders dropped. “Let’s not do that again,” he said. 

  
  


“I don’t know, she was pretty good,” John said. “Looked as though she was plummeting, she did—truly artful.”

  
  


“Shut up.”

  
  


“D’you think we should suggest acrobatics as a future career? Maybe one of those people in circuses, leaping from bar to bar?”

  
  


“I hate you,” Paul grumbled, trying to hold back a smile. He stood up. “Come on, she’s going to want us to push her on the swing.”

  
  


Sure enough, as soon as they reached her, Reese gave them a pleading look. “Push me?” she asked.

  
  


“Yeah, okay,” Paul said with a wink, and he stepped around behind her to get her moving. Her knees pumped as she moved back and forth, in rhythm but not keeping her going—just a childish mimicry of what she had seen older kids do. John sat cross-legged on the ground beside them, watching. 

  
  


The park was entirely empty aside from the three of them, a little bubble in the middle of Swansea. John fiddled with a few wood chips and began to sing under his breath.

  
  


“Louder, Johnny!” Paul cried, and John glanced up to see him smiling widely. He started to sing louder, and after a few seconds Paul joined in. 

  
  


After a particularly rousing and somewhat offkey performance of ‘That’ll Be The Day,’ Reese began to clap. John bowed as well as he could in his position. “Another!” she shouted. 

  
  


John looked at Paul and raised his eyebrows in a challenge. _Your turn_. 

  
  


Without missing a beat, Paul began to belt. “ _I’m gonna tell Aunt Mary ’bout Uncle John!_ ” 

  
  


John burst out laughing. “Yeah, Macca!”

  
  


“ _—but he had a lot of fun, oh baby! Yeah, now baby!_ ”

  
  


“ _Wooh!_ ” John shouted along with him, breaking off into more peals of laughter as Paul shook his head. 

  
  


By the third verse, Reese had figured out exactly where to add the classic Little Richard shout and did it along with them, hair shifting about in front of her face as she shook her head just like Paul did. It was one of the cutest things John had seen in his life, the two red-faced McCartneys singing in unison.

  
  


After finishing the last note, Paul dropped to his knees, panting. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “How did he _dance_ in his performances?”

  
  


“The mysteries of mankind,” John joked. Paul shoved back a lock of hair that had flopped forward onto his forehead. 

  
  


Reese jumped off the swing and sat down with them, still giggling. “I didn’t know you guys could sing!”

  
  


“Only on Fridays and every other Tuesday,” John quipped. 

  
  


Her nose scrunched as she tried to think it over. “What?”

  
  


“Ignore him,” Paul said. “He’s daft.”

  
  


“ _You’re_ daft!” John teased, shoving his shoulder. Paul collapsed onto the ground without any resistance. 

  
  


“That’s not a nice thing to say to your boyfriend,” Reese said, tilting her nose up as though looking down upon them. The holier-than-thou expression lost all superiority on her youthful face. John’s heart could not handle how adorable she was.

  
  


“He said it first.”

  
  


Paul stuck his tongue out at him. John did the same. Reese didn’t respond, and after a moment the two boys broke their gaze to look at her. Her eyebrows had creased, and she looked deep in thought.

  
  


“What’s the matter, luv?” Paul asked. 

  
  


She looked up at them. “How come you guys are boyfriends instead of boyfriend and girlfriend?” She finally asked. 

  
  


“Well, to start, we’re both boys,” John joked awkwardly. 

  
  


“I _know_ that,” she said. “But how come there’s...” she still looked as though she was searching for the right words. 

  
  


“Two boys and no girl?” John suggested, and she nodded. He sighed and sat up straight. He was not prepared to have a nuanced discussion about sexuality with a child. “Most boys,” he began, “think girls are pretty. And most girls think boys are pretty. But some girls think girls are pretty, and some boys think boys are pretty. And some people, like me, think both boys and girls are pretty.”

  
  


“So do I,” Paul added. 

  
  


“Do you think Paul’s pretty?” she asked. 

  
  


“Oh, _very_ much so,” John simpered. He could see Paul roll his eyes from the corner of his vision. 

  
  


She crossed her arms. Christ, John felt like he was getting the shovel talk. “What do you think makes him pretty?” she said. 

  
  


Paul immediately flushed bright red, and from the warmth in his cheeks, he had a feeling he’d done the same. “You—you don’t have to answer that,” Paul said. Reese raised her eyebrows in a challenge and _damn_ , John could never back down from a challenge. 

  
  


“Well,” John said. “He has very pretty eyes, I think, and nice hair, and a smile that could light up a room. But he’s also very funny, and nice, and smart, and kind. He’s a very good friend. I like him very much for that.”

  
  


Paul’s face softened into a smile, still tinged pink. He _was_ rather pretty, John thought, and felt a flutter in his heart. 

  
  


A scoff from the girl beside them jolted him out of his reverie, and he made the executive decision to ignore that feeling. “Smiles can’t light up rooms,” she said. “Lamps do that.”

  
  


“It’s really more of an expression,” Paul said. 

  
  


She shrugged. “Okay. Can we go on the swings a bit longer?”

  
  


Paul checked his watch. “Oh, _shi_ —no, hon, we better get back.”

  
  


“How come?”

  
  


“John and my friends are coming in thirty minutes, and we have to pick them up from the train station,” Paul said, standing up and brushing the wood chips off his trousers. John bit back a curse and did the same. 

  
  


“I didn’t like the train ride here much,” she said as Paul and John each grabbed her hand. “The ferry ride was much funner.”

  
  


“More fun,” Paul corrected automatically as they began to head back down the street to Angela’s grandmother’s house. 

  
  


“You’re as bad as Mummy!” She huffed, and John snorted. “I’m making a new word!” 

  
  


“Sorry, luv,” Paul said. “Didn’t realise.”

  
  


“S’okay,” she muttered, and the three of them continued, leaving the empty playground behind them. 

  
  
  
  
  


“I still don’t understand why I can’t drive.”

  
  


Paul sighed, shifting his head to face John. “You’re blind as hell, Johnny. I’m not letting you crash Mikey’s car after he let us borrow it. Why don’t you just put on your glasses, anyroad? You had them when we left for Swansea.”

  
  


John mumbled something and turned to stare out the window. 

  
  


“What was that?” Paul asked. 

  
  


“You said the thing, on the train, about your aunts...” John started. Paul pressed his knuckles against his mouth, trying to hide a grin, and nodded. John’s eyes narrowed, and Paul turned back to face the road. 

  
  


“Were you just making that up?”

  
  


Paul didn’t respond.

  
  


“Oh my God, you wanker!” John shouted, and Paul burst out laughing. “Here I’ve been, stumbling about like a blind fool this whole time, embarrassing myself—for the first time, for most of them—in front of your family, and you’ve just stood by, laughing your _arse_ off—”

  
  


“I’m sorry, Johnny!” Paul tried, although he had a feeling that his apology didn’t seem very sincere. “I had to get you to help somehow, didn’t I?”

  
  


“You absolute prick!” John continued. “Oh, God, everybody at the wedding’s going to think I’m an idiot, aren’t they?”

  
  


“It’s really not that bad!”

  
  


“I ran into a wall yesterday! Full-on, no hesitation, just straight into a wall! I was _surprised_ when I hit it!”

  
  


Paul snorted. “Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad.”

  
  


“And I can’t start wearing me glasses now, because they’ll be all, _‘Why weren’t you wearing your glasses before, John?’_ This is terrible. I can’t believe you, McCartney.”

  
  


“I know.”

  
  


“I hate you.”

  
  


“I know.” 

  
  


“Why do you look so proud of yourself?” 

  
  


Paul bit back his smile and turned back to the road. 

  
  


They arrived at the train station to find George and Ritch standing near the doors, waiting for them. John waved at them through the window. Ritchie was the first to notice, tugging on George’s arm and pointing towards them, and they both began to walk towards the vehicle. 

  
  


“Hello, lads,” George said, sliding into the seat. “How’s the new couple life treating you two?”

  
  


“Paul’s a terrible boyfriend,” John proclaimed, turning to face them.

  
  


“First spat, huh?” Ritch asked, closing the door behind him. “Tragic. I know it’s rough to break the honeymoon phase, but you’ll get through it. Geo and I did.”

  
  


“Shove off,” Paul teased, pulling away from the car park. 

  
  


“Touchy,” Ritch said. “Is the honeymoon remark not appropriate for a wedding?”

  
  


John turned to Paul with a sigh. “You know,” he said. “I miss when they weren’t here.”

  
  


“Hey!” The two of them cried in unison from the back seats. 

  
  


Paul raised his eyebrows at them in the rear-view mirror, considering. After a moment, he nodded. “Agreed.”

  
  
  
  
  


Paul did not wake up the next morning with a weight on his chest. He did, however, wake up with something rather body-shaped underneath his head, which was even more alarming. Perhaps the most alarming part about the whole situation was the arm looped around his waist, holding him against the person underneath him. The person who happened to be John.

  
  


No, actually, _that_ was the most alarming part. 

  
  


He attempted to sit upward, which really only ended in him shifting his weight onto the legs tangled around his. He tried to lean forward so that he didn’t crush John, but instead just lost his balance. Before he could fall, he braced his arms on either side of John. 

  
  


John opened one eye, squinting against the sun streaming in through the curtains. After a few seconds, he closed his eye again and sighed, head dropping back onto the pillow. “We’ve got to stop waking up like this,” he said. 

  
  


“Yes, well.” Paul cleared his throat, scrambling for a defense. “Not entirely my fault, is it?”

  
  


“Is this morning,” John mumbled.

  
  


Paul had no retaliation to that. He rolled off John, heat flushing his cheeks. “Right,” he said. “Well, should we get started for the day, then?”

  
  


“Still early,” John said. 

  
  


Paul glanced at the clock to see that it was, in fact, only six thirty. Nobody else would be up for another two, three hours. His body felt too wired to go back to sleep. “I think I might read,” he said.

  
  


John merely hummed in response, already nearly back asleep. Paul picked up the novel that lay abandoned on the bedside table, leant back against the pillows, and began to read. 

  
  


Or, tried to, anyroad. 

  
  


The book, he had to admit, was a bit dull. His mind kept drifting away from the words on the page, toward the man in the bed next to him. The past two days had been nice. With any of his other friends—Geo or Ritchie or anyone, really—he would have felt vastly uncomfortable with everyone thinking they were dating, but with John, weird as it was, he didn’t actually _mind_. He had liked holding John’s hand. He had liked when John had told Reese about what made Paul a good person. He had liked the grin John gave him afterwards, an endearing smile that he almost never showed in front of other people. 

  
  


It struck him then exactly how domestic the scene must have looked: John sleeping in bed beside him as he read a book early in the morning, like some old married couple. It reminded him of his own parents, when he and Mike used to run into their bedroom early in the morning as young kids. 

  
  


Christ. This was all too much. He swung his legs off the bed and grabbed clothes for the morning, something he could wear until they had to get suits on and change for the wedding. 

  
  


It must have been the wedding, he thought, as he began off towards the loo to take a shower. Everybody always got romantic and sentimental around weddings. That was all it was. He couldn’t like John, anyroad, because John didn’t like him back. Why would he even consider it? If he did like John, and he did act on it, then all he would get would be heartbreak and one less friend. 

  
  


John was maybe the most important person in the world to him. He couldn’t bear to lose that.

  
  
  
  
  


“Well, look who decided to join us.”

  
  


Paul turned around to see who Mike was talking to. John stepped into the kitchen, looking by all means as though he had only woken up half a minute prior. His hair stuck up around his head in a halo. He glanced around at the assembly of people around the table and frowned. “Did I miss brekkie?”

  
  


“Saved you a plate, luv,” Paul said, patting the empty chair beside him. 

  
  


“Thank God,” John mumbled, sitting down in the seat and beginning to eat. Most people were finished, although some still were picking away; Reese, sat on Paul’s other side, seemed determined to cut her bacon into the smallest pieces possible. “Where’s Angela?”

  
  


“You just missed her,” Mike said. “She and her family left for the hotel to start getting ready. The rest of us’ll follow in a bit.”

  
  


Everyone chatted idly for a little while. Mike seemed full of nervous excitement, never quite still; his hand tapped out a beat against the side of the table, his knee bounced. After everybody (except for Reese, but Paul imagined that was probably a lost cause) had finished their breakfast, he jumped up. “Should we get ready to head out, then?”

  
  


Jim chuckled, patting his son on the shoulder as everyone began to get up. John and Paul set their plates in the dishwasher and headed upstairs to their bedroom. John grabbed his suit and headed off to shower, leaving Paul to get dressed in their room. 

  
  


He stared at himself in the mirror as he pulled the jacket over his shirt. This was it. His little brother was getting married, and he couldn’t be more proud. 

  
  


Okay, maybe he was a _little_ embarrassed that his younger brother was getting married before he was, but that was only because he knew his family was going to give him hell for it throughout the entire reception. 

  
  


He smoothed down his hair one last time and sat on the bed, pulling out his phone. George and Ritch were staying at the hotel, like all the other guests who weren’t related, and he sent them a text to see how they were doing.

  
  


Before he received a reply, the door creaked open. “Knock, knock,” John said. “How do I look?”

  
  


Paul looked up to see him, and his mind short-circuited. Paul hadn’t seen John in the suit (he wasn’t sure he had ever seen him in a suit, except maybe at Julia’s funeral, and that was nearly a decade ago), but John had sent him a text the other week to tell him he had one that fit. And holy _hell_ , did it fit. It was well cut, not too tight, but slim enough to show off John’s shoulders and thighs. After a moment of silence just slightly too long, Paul nodded quickly and glanced back up towards John’s face, wiping his palms on his trousers. 

  
  


“Yeah, no, it looks—” he cleared his throat. “You look great.”

  
  


Paul hadn’t realised how unsure John looked until he grinned in relief. “Not too bad yourself, Macca. Except,” he stepped forward, a crease forming between his eyebrows and his voice dropping to a soft murmur, “your tie is messed up a tad bit.”

  
  


“Is it?” Paul breathed, wanting to check but unable to break their gaze. John reached forward, and _Christ_ , when had they gotten so close?

  
  


“I’ll get it,” John murmured. He slipped a finger underneath the knot and, after a moment, tugged it down in one sharp movement. 

  
  


“Damnit, John!” Paul shouted, glancing in the mirror behind him to try and retie the knot. “Bloody wanker.”

  
  


“I had you, though!” John cackled.

  
  


“You’re one to talk. Jesus Christ, your tie is a right mess.” 

  
  


John glanced down, a frown on his face. “No, it’s not.”

  
  


“That is _not_ what a tie is supposed to look like, John” Paul told him. The spell had broken, and the man in front of him was still just John, for better or for worse (although, Paul couldn’t deny that he still looked _stunning_ ). “Here, I’ll be a _good_ friend and fix it for you.”

  
  


John snorted as Paul set to work. “You said _not_. Was that a pun?”

  
  


Paul smacked him on the shoulder. “Let’s go, you idiot. Everyone else is probably waiting for us downstairs already.”

  
  


As it turned out, the only other people ready to leave were Auntie Jin and Reese. Reese had on a pair of light grey trousers and a pale pink button-up shirt with a bright pink bowtie. Jin was wearing a sleek, turquoise dress. “Don’t you boys look stunning?” Auntie Jin said, a teasing grin on her face.

  
  


“Gorgeous as always, ladies,” Paul replied. 

  
  


“Did you want to head up?” She asked. “I can take you two along with me.”

  
  


Paul looked to John, who shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “Thanks, Auntie Jin.”

  
  


“Jim!” she shouted up the stairs. 

  
  


“Just a second!” There was a thump and a grumbled cuss word before Paul’s Da stepped around the corner of the stairs. “What’s going on?”

  
  


“Reese and the boys and I are going to head up to the hotel, if that’s alright with you,” she said. 

  
  


“I thought Paul and John were coming with us!” Mike yelled from the other room, barely audible. 

  
  


Jim glanced behind him before saying, “Mike thought Paul and John were coming with us.”

  
  


“You’re taking too long!” Paul said. Auntie Jin chuckled. 

  
  


“Well, _excuse me_ for taking forever to get ready for my own wedding!” Mike retorted. “Go with Auntie Jin! I don’t want you in the car anyroad!”

  
  


“Well, excuse Mike—” Jim began.

  
  


“Thanks, Jim, I think we got it,” Jin said. “Ready to go?”

  
  


“Aye,” John said. 

  
  


“See you all at the wedding!” Jin called. Jim waved and headed back to his room. Another one of Paul’s aunts—Milly, maybe—shouted her goodbyes. Mike let out a strangled, nervous shout that was entirely unintelligible. The four of them headed out the door to the car.

  
  


John eyed Paul. “Who takes the backseat?”

  
  


They stared each other down for a few seconds before sighing and holding up their hands. 

  
  


“Are you two _children_?” Jin asked, bemused.

  
  


“This is a very intense, serious, adult-ish sport, I’ll have you know,” John told her, not breaking the glare he was shooting at Paul.

  
  


Paul sighed. “We kept losing our five pences every time we tried to flip a coin.”

  
  


“Carry on, then.”

  
  


Paul beat John, paper to rock, and John immediately started grumbling. “You didn’t do shoot!” He said. “It’s not valid! You said ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors,’ and I said ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors, _Shoot_!”

  
  


“Get in the back, Johnny,” Paul said, already climbing into the front seat. 

  
  


“Only because I get to hang out with Reese, and she’s better company than you, anyroad,” John said. 

  
  


“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Paul said, sneaking a look in the rear-view mirror. John was smiling at him, eyes twinkling. 

  
  


“You should be. It’s tragic.”

  
  


“I’m sure it is.”

  
  


The ride was a short one, Paul and Jin talking in the front seats as John and Reese played hand-games in the back until they reached the hotel. “Thank you for the ride,” Paul said as they all climbed out of the car. 

  
  


“No problem, _thaisce_. You’ll meet Mikey before the ceremony starts?”

  
  


“Of course,” Paul said.

  
  


Auntie Jin smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s really glad his big brother is there, Paul. Trust me. As much as I complain about your Da, I’m always happy he’s with me.” 

  
  


Paul nodded. Next to him, John crouched down and tapped Reese on the nose. “I’ll see you at the wedding, huh? Maybe we can get seats together.”

  
  


“I’m the flower girl,” she proclaimed proudly. “I get to stand with Paul.”

  
  


“Well, that changes everything, doesn’t it? You make sure to bother him lots up there for me.”

  
  


“Hey!” Paul protested. John shot him a wink.

  
  


“I’m beginning to think you ought to have not brought this man around,” Auntie Jin teased. “He’s been a terrible influence on my child. Come on, _leanbh_ , we better go make sure Angela’s not climbing out of the window as we speak.”

  
  


Reese gave the two of them a wave as she walked into the building, holding her mother’s hand. John turned to Paul. “Should we find Ritch and George?” he asked. 

  
  


“Look for signs of disaster,” Paul said, pushing the door open. “Can’t be that hard to find.”

  
  
  
  
  


John appraised George, his face a mixture of awe and horror. “I can’t tell if you’re wearing that shirt ironically or not.”

  
  


George frowned at his shirt. “What’s the matter with it? Did I spill something?”

  
  


“It’s just...Christ, it’s so _bright_.”

  
  


“That’s the whole appeal,” he said. “At least I stand out.”

  
  


“But is it really in a good way?” Paul asked. 

  
  


Ritchie looked offended. “I _bought_ him that shirt.”

  
  


“And I wanted it very much, I’ll have you know,” George added. 

  
  


John sighed. “Alright, fine. Terribly sorry—Georgie, darling, you look lovely in that shirt. I’d simply _have_ to give you a kiss if your boyfriend weren’t standing right here beside me.”

  
  


“I don’t know whether to thank you or be insulted,” George muttered, eyebrows furrowed. 

  
  


“Your boyfriend’s here too, Johnny—watch your words,” Ringo teased. 

  
  


John blushed, but refused to back down. “Right, of course. My dear Paulie, please, forgive me,” he begged, dropping to one knee and clasping his hands together. “George and I have only had an affair twice, and maybe only one more time after this. Please, don’t leave me.”

  
  


Paul sighed and shook his head. “I need new friends.”

  
  
  
  
  


Mike was freaking out.

  
  


He paced back and forth, clutching at his hair, as Paul and Jim followed him in a desperate attempt to get him to calm down.

  
  


“You love her,” his Da said. “What’s the problem?”

  
  


“I love her, but what if she doesn’t love me?” Mike said. “What if she wakes up tomorrow, five months, five years from now and is like, _‘Ugh, that guy.’_ What do I do then?”

  
  


“She agreed to marry your sorry arse,” Paul said, smirking. “Shouldn’t that count for something?”

  
  


Jim shot him a dirty look. Paul dropped the smile immediately. 

  
  


“That’s not the kind of girl Angela is,” Jim continued, “and I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. She reminds me a lot of your mother when we were getting married, actually.”

  
  


That got Mike to stop pacing long enough to give his father a disgusted look. “Now you’ve gone and made it weird, Da! Oh my God, now is _not_ the time to tell me I’m marrying my late _mother_!”

  
  


“No, I just meant that she’s kind and caring and strong-willed—” Jim pressed his face into his hands. Paul laid a hand on his shoulder.

  
  


“I’ve got this, Da,” he said. He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of Mike, stared him in the eyes, and smacked him across the back of the head.

  
  


“Oh, Jesus Christ,” their father groaned.

  
  


“Ow, Paul! What the hell was that for?” Mike opened his mouth as if to complain more, but Paul cut him off.

  
  


“Peter Michael McCartney, for the love of God, listen to me. Angela absolutely adores you. You absolutely adore her. This? This whole freak-out? Unnecessary. You two are going to go on to get married and be disgustingly cute and be one of those newly-wed couples who make you feel like shite because you’re single. If you put the effort in—and I know you can—you’re going to get the relationship that you want. Do you understand?”

  
  


Mike stared at him nervously for a few seconds before letting out a breath and nodding. 

  
  


“Good.” Paul pulled him in for a hug. “Go fix your hair—you look god-awful.”

  
  


Jim gave Paul a look of respect. “That was good, what you did there.”

  
  


Paul shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

  
  


“I’m going to remember those words for when you’re freaking out at your own wedding, you know,” Jim told him.

  
  


Paul sighed. “I’m very aware of that.”

  
  


“Good.” Jim nodded and peered over Mike’s shoulder in the mirror, smoothing down his jacket lapels. “Alright, my lads. Who’s ready for a wedding?”

  
  
  
  
  


The sun glowed down onto the hotel garden, lighting up pale petals and waxy, green leaves. The cool, Welsh breeze chilled the air; a few women clutched their husbands’ suit jackets around their shoulders in an attempt to block out the cold. A couple of people were still milling about, chatting, but for the most part everyone was sat in their chairs, staring at the empty arch and waiting for the wedding to begin. 

  
  


“I must say, I do love weddings,” Richard said. “Wouldn't you agree, Georgie?”

  
  


“I’m not one for big events, but they are lovely,” Geo said. “I do have to wonder if we’ll be hearing any wedding bells in the future, from a certain pair of our most dear friends?” He leant towards John, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. 

  
  


John narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know. Looked at any good rings, lately, Ritch?”

  
  


The two of them glanced at each other and immediately looked in opposite directions. Ritchie cleared his throat, and George shot John a glare. “ _I’m trying to help you, y’know,_ ” he whispered.

  
  


“How in God’s name are you doing that, then?”

  
  


“Are you seriously telling me that you haven’t liked these past few days? Come on, John; isn’t being with Paul kind of nice? Isn’t a little part of you happy with him? You make quite the couple, y’know.”

  
  


John flushed. “No. Shut up. Fuck off, Georgie.”

  
  


George’s smirk returned, looking satisfied. Ritch elbowed him and murmured something about "manipulating the results,” a comment which John chose to ignore. 

  
  


For now, at least. He would almost definitely bring it up later. 

  
  


The soft sounds of string music began to start up and the crowd fell silent, everybody still standing moving to take their seats. Mike hurried in from the side, stepping into place at the arch just as the bridesmaids and groomsmen stepped down the aisle. Paul was the last, arm linked with some blonde bird. He murmured something to her and she giggled, and John felt an inexplicable flicker of jealousy for a moment before he closed his eyes and took a breath. Paul was entitled to flirt with whoever he wanted—so long as he didn’t blow his own cover. Then John would be pissed. 

  
  


They unlinked arms and Paul went to stand behind Mike. He began to scan the crowds until he found John, Ritch, and George. He gave them a little smile and turned back towards the aisle. 

  
  


Reese made her way up, tossing petals on the ground as she went. She seemed to take her job with an intense seriousness held only by little children; she bit her lip in concentration, ensuring that the petals were spread out evenly instead of in clumps. When she made it to the front, she immediately headed towards Paul. After a few seconds, she turned and poked him once in the knee. He glanced down at her, laughing, and nudged her. Reese looked out into the crowd. When her eyes met John’s, he gave her a thumbs up, and she gave him a conspiratorial grin. Paul gave him a mock glare and shook his head, mouthing something that John couldn’t quite make out. He couldn’t think on it too long, though, because Angela began to make her way down the aisle, clutching at her father’s arm. 

  
  


She looked beautiful, and the vows were beautiful, and the whole damn ceremony was beautiful, and John would be lying if he said he didn’t get a little misty-eyed at the whole thing (although, if George or Ritch asked, he definitely did _not_ ). 

  
  


“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant said, and Mike swept her into a kiss, a hand cradling her cheek, the love between the two of them so strong John could almost feel it. Over their heads he could see Paul gazing at him with a look he couldn’t decipher, sad and excited and disappointed and hopeful, all at once. He couldn’t even begin to fathom exactly why Paul was looking at him like that, or what it meant, but somewhere deep inside his chest he felt like he _understood_ , like he felt it too, some sort of confusing swirl of emotions that somehow deeply and intrinsically involved the two of them, and he could feel his expression change to match Paul’s. What a pair they made—staring at each other with such bittersweet expressions at such a happy occasion. 

  
  


They were, he supposed sardonically, just perfect for each other. 

  
  
  
  
  


Paul was not having a good time.

  
  


Okay, yes, he was having a _spectacular_ time in almost every regard except for his Auntie Edie, who sat to his left, glaring at both him and John. 

  
  


He had never really gotten Edie—she was the oldest of his aunts, older than his own father by about five years, and very conservative. He was ninety percent sure she had voted for Boris Johnson in the last election, and a bloody twat he’d turned out to be. He has previously assumed she probably wouldn’t be overly pro-gay rights, but she had kept her mouth shut for the past few days, and he was hoping perhaps that would have been it. The alcohol, it seemed, had made her far braver. 

  
  


John had noticed this, too, and after giving Paul a rather mischievous look, he had scraped his chair closer to him and they were now holding hands, John leaning rather heavily against his shoulder. What John had failed to account for was that the McCartney stubbornness was just as strong as the Lennon stubbornness, and Edie was no exception. He wished Ritchie and George were at the table with them. 

  
  


Although, he thought, that may have actually made the situation worse. 

  
  


“Well,” Auntie Edie began, and Paul cringed. _Here we go._ “I had no idea you were into such people as...John, Paul.”

  
  


“No?” he said, taking a sip of his wine. God, he was not _nearly_ drunk enough to deal with this. 

  
  


“Is it a,” she gave John a dirty look, “recent thing, or?”

  
  


“Not particularly, no,” Paul said drily. 

  
  


“Jim? Did you know about this already?”

  
  


Both Jim and Paul flushed dark red and glanced away from the table. Paul took a significantly larger sip of his drink. “Er, yes, I did,” Jim said. 

  
  


“Is there a story behind that?” John whispered in Paul’s ear. 

  
  


“Tell you later,” Paul replied.

  
  


“And you’re...okay, with all this?” Auntie Edie asked, raising an eyebrow.

  
  


“Good God, Edie, I think you’re the only person at this table who has a problem,” Auntie Jin said. “Shut up for once in your life, will you?”

  
  


Before a fight could break out between the two sisters, dinner was served. Auntie Edie grumbled but picked up her fork and knife and began to eat. John let go of Paul’s hand and began to eat. “What happened with your Da, then?” he asked, keeping his voice low so only Paul could hear. 

  
  


“What do you mean?” Paul asked, pointedly not looking at John, knowing full well what he meant. John cleared his throat and Paul sighed. “Okay, okay, fine. Christ. I never had to come out to my Da because he sort of, y’know...walked in on me snogging another boy?”

  
  


“Scandalous!” John gasped. “What was good ol’ Jim’s reaction?”

  
  


“Well, he left rather quickly,” Paul said. “But, uh, the lad jumped out of my window almost immediately afterward. I’m fairly sure Da saw him running across the garden through the window.”

  
  


John snorted. “Subtle.”

  
  


“So I went downstairs and Da made me sit down in the kitchen with him and told me, quite calmly, that it was all fine and dandy for me to like blokes but that he would prefer that the door be kept open if we were in my room.” Paul felt his cheeks growing warm again. “I told him I liked both and I was never allowed to have my door closed again.”

  
  


“Is _that_ why we always hung out at my house?” John asked. 

  
  


“Yes.”

  
  


“Well, I can see why you didn’t want to tell me. That _is_ embarrassing.”

  
  


Paul shot John a withering look. “How about you, then? How’d you tell Aunt Mimi?”

  
  


“Well, it was significantly less embarrassing, I’ll tell you that much.”

  
  


“Damnit.”

  
  


John shrugged. “I don’t know, I just told her that I was bi. She didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it. Good ol’ Meems.” 

  
  


Paul bumped his shoulder against John’s, smiling, and they continued eating. 

  
  
  
  
  


As the night had gone on, the crowd had thinned out significantly—Paul knew that at least Auntie Edie had gone back to the house, as well as Auntie Jin and Reese, and he wouldn’t be surprised if his father had already left as well. Jim wasn’t much of a partier. 

  
  


As the night had gone on, everyone who remained had gotten progressively drunker. And they were dancing now. Paul couldn’t really recognise the song but it had a damn good bass. He was having one hell of a time. 

  
  


So were Georgie and Ritchie, it seemed. The two of them stumbled their way towards John and Paul. George was clinging to Ritchie’s arm. “Hello!” he said. “Ringo and I have been searching for you lads for _ages_!”

  
  


“Ringo?” Paul asked. 

  
  


“That’s a new one,” John said.

  
  


“It’s cuz he’s got so many _rings_ ,” George informed him. “Get it? Cuz, like, Ring-o, from the ri—”

  
  


“We got it, Georgie, thank you,” Paul teased. “How are you two enjoying the wedding?”

  
  


“S’absolutely fab,” George said. “Isn’t this just spectacular? I’m having so much fun. Are you, babe?”

  
  


“I am, luv.” Ritchie, or rather, Ringo—who looked to be significantly more sober than George—gazed at him with an adoring grin. “We ought to get you back to the hotel room soon, though.”

  
  


“Why?” George whined. “We just found Paulie and John!”

  
  


“We can talk with them for a little, but you’re really quite drunk. Going to be dying of a hangover tomorrow, you are,” Ritchie said. 

  
  


“You’re so considerate,” George said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Ringo grinned and ducked his head. “But also wrong. I don’t get hangovers.”

  
  


“What a drunk person thing to say,” Paul said, and John snorted. 

  
  


“I’ll prove it,” George said. “Johnny, get me another drink.”

  
  


John began to step away and Paul grabbed him by the elbow. “No,” he warned, and John laughed.

  
  


“I think that may be our cue to leave,” Ritchie said. “Bye lads, we’ll see you later.”

  
  


“Get some rest, George. Drink loads of water,” Paul said.

  
  


“Bye, Ringo,” John said, smirking. Ritch rolled his eyes and waved, tugging George away. George looked as though he was fighting against Ritchie’s plan, but he was far too drunk to succeed. 

  
  


John turned to face Paul, a small grin still playing at the corners of his mouth. “Just the two of us, then, huh?”

  
  


The two of them stood facing each other for a few seconds in an awkward limbo, unsure of what to do. The song switched over to the soft plucking of a guitar, and people still dancing began to split off in groups of two. John held out his hand. “A dance, my dear?” he teased. 

  
  


“But of course,” Paul replied, taking his hand. He looped his other arm around John’s waist, and the two of them began to dance. 

  
  


“ _There’s something in the way she moves,_ ” the song began. “ _Or looks my way or calls my name, that seems to leave this troubled world behind._ ”

  
  


John tugged Paul closer to him and rested his chin sleepily against Paul’s shoulder. Even despite the languid soberness the song gave him, Paul could feel his heartbeat pick up. The other couples, spinning in slow circles in the dim room near them, felt imaginary, fake. They couldn’t get it. Paul got the overwhelming feeling that him and John were the ones who really heard the song, who knew what it all meant. Each chord, each word sung felt private, something just for them. For a moment, through his drunken haze, he was no longer even sure if they were faking anymore. 

  
  


The song drew to a close and the room was silent, still. Drunk on the heady taste of wine still on his tongue and the warmth of someone in his arms, Paul pressed a kiss to John’s hair. John’s response was lost, muffled in the fabric of Paul’s suit. 

  
  


“What was that, luv?” Paul asked. 

  
  


“What’d you do that for?” John mumbled.

  
  


The glowing warmth of the room all of a sudden seemed too hot. Paul dropped his arms and patted John’s elbow. “Just keeping up appearances, y’know,” he said, ignoring the ache in his chest as he spoke. He had no right to feel upset, he reasoned with himself. None of this meant anything. 

  
  


Why, then, did it feel like it meant so much?

  
  


John withdrew from him and gave him a puzzled look, as though he was trying to figure something out. The lights in the room clicked on, and the two of them blinked rapidly, trying to get used to the brightness. 

  
  


Paul cleared his throat. “There’s Ange and Mike,” he said. “I’m sure we can all get home together.”

  
  


“Didn’t your Da drive Mike?” John asked as they began to walk over to the happy couple, who were still too wrapped up in themselves to notice everyone else beginning to gather their things. 

  
  


“Angela had to get here somehow. Worst case, I’m sure we can call a cab.”

  
  


They stopped in front of Mike and Angela, who finally turned to look at them. “Oh!” Angela said, as if finally coming back into herself. “It’s over! God, the night just flew by.”

  
  


“It was lovely,” Paul said.

  
  


“I suppose we better get heading home,” Mike said. 

  
  


“Are either of you sober enough to drive?” John asked. “Because Paulie and I sure as hell aren’t.” 

  
  


Mike laughed. “Oh God, you two. Yes, we’re plenty sober. Didn’t want to forget this.”

  
  


“Or spend the first day of our honeymoon throwing up in an aeroplane toilet,” Angela added. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

  
  


Most people stopped on their way out to congratulate Angela and Mike, giving them each a kiss on the cheek and telling them how wonderful the wedding had been. The two of them seemed to be glowing, although whether from the praise or sheer happiness Paul wasn’t sure. 

  
  


The night air was a cool shock after the heat of the hotel. It was quiet, broken only by the shuffle of their feet upon the gravel and the chirp of a cricket, somewhere in the bushes. A few stars glowed overhead, overshone by a bright moon. It was nearly full, Paul noted, but not quite. Only a day or two more. 

  
  


The four of them climbed into Angela’s car. Despite the late hour—about half an hour past midnight, if the car’s clock was to be believed—Paul felt an electric energy through his veins. The car started with a soft rumble and they began to head down the road. 

  
  


Halfway back to the house, Paul felt something bump his knee. He glanced down to see John’s leg against his, in a position just slightly too manufactured to be accidental. John kept staring out the window at the dark night, the occasional residential light flickering past. He shifted slightly again, and Paul could feel his knee more evidently now, more purposeful. He returned the pressure and continued to stare at the back of Mike’s seat, mind racing a mile a minute. He felt just slightly too slow to properly catch any of the thoughts. 

  
  


The lights were off for the most part back at Angela’s grandmother’s house, except for one in the hallway. They unlocked the door as quietly as they could, trying to sneak in without rousing any of the other guests. 

  
  


“I doubt they can hear us that well,” Mike pointed out, and John and Paul both shushed him with giggles. Mike just rolled his eyes. “Alright, you two get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning. Angie and I are going to bed, too.”

  
  


John winked at them.

  
  


“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Mike said, blushing, and they turned and headed towards their bedroom. 

  
  


Paul laughed. “Come on, Johnny, let’s just get to bed.”

  
  


“Well, hey now,” John teased, his voice low, stepping so that he was in front of Paul. “The night is still young.”

  
  


“It’s almost one in the morning, Johnny,” Paul said. John stared at him, slightly unfocused but still intense, and Paul felt dizzy. 

  
  


“So?” John asked, stepping forward again. Their noses were barely a centimetre apart, and Paul closed his eyes to keep them from crossing. He could still feel John’s gaze burning into him. 

  
  


“What are you doing, Johnny?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a breath. 

  
  


“Just keeping up appearances, y’know,” John said, and kissed him. 

  
  


Immediately, he was lost in a sea of swirling thoughts, in the feeling of John’s mouth against his, John’s hands on his shoulder and his cheek, _John, John, John_. His knees nearly buckled and he grabbed onto the collar of his suit to steady himself. _God, John looked hot in that suit_ . He let one hand travel up towards John’s hair, threaded his fingers through it. He tugged lightly and John let out a whine, needy and desperate, and that’s when he remembered exactly what was happening. 

  
  


He let go of John and pulled away, taking a step back. John leant forward, chasing the kiss, and opened his eyes. “What’s the matter, Macca?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern that Paul could _tell_ was genuine, and he felt like he was making the wrong decision but he knew that wasn’t true. 

  
  


“Not like this,” he whispered. 

  
  


“What are you talking about?” 

  
  


“I don’t want it to happen like this,” he said, unable to tear his eyes away from the pink flush in John’s cheeks. 

  
  


(Was that from the alcohol, he wondered, or from _him_ , or some heady mix of the two?)

  
  


“I don’t know what you mean,” John said.

  
  


“See?” Paul motioned desperately between the two of them. “That’s what I mean! I can’t do this if—” his voice cracked and _fuck_ , why did he always have to get emotional when he was drunk? “If it’s not going to mean anything.”

  
  


John still looked confused, and Paul knew that it wouldn’t take very much thought to figure out why everything _hurt_ so much at that. Some tiny part of him wanted to just ignore all that, ignore everything he had just said, ignore his morals and feelings and just kiss him again. But how could he stand that? How could he only ever have one night, and the remnants of a friendship that was once so strong?

  
  


He wanted more. 

  
  


He’d settle for a compromise.

  
  


“I’m sorry, John,” he managed, and he brushed past him. 

  
  


“Paul, wait—” John said, reaching out after him, but Paul was already walking up the stairs. He focused on the step of his feet, matched to the thumping of his heart, and ignored the cold stillness of the house settling around him. It was only after he’d made it to their room that he realised it was still _their room_. Neither of them could sleep on a settee, out in the lounge—they’d be sure to get questions from all the nosy relatives in the house—and there wasn’t really any other place they could sleep in the room, other than the floor. 

  
  


Guilt had already settled itself deep in Paul’s chest, so instead of adding more he dropped to the ground, still in his suit, and curled up in a ball, leaving the bed for John. If he tilted his head just right he could see the stars through the window. 

  
  


He focused on them and nothing more until his vision was blurry with exhaustion, and he couldn’t bear to keep his eyes open anymore. The cold of the floor seeped through the fabric of his clothes, but he fell asleep anyways, too numb to care. 

  
  


Sometime in the early grey between midnight and morning, he thought he felt a blanket draped around his shoulders, a hand brushed through his hair, a murmured apology, but he knew it couldn’t have been real. Within seconds, it already began to slip away from his memory. 

  
  


It had to have been a dream. 

  
  
  
  
  


Paul woke up to the golden glow of sunlight and a headache. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again. His entire body ached, really; consequences of sleeping on the floor, he supposed. 

  
  


Last night came flooding back to him, shocking him awake. He glanced over to the bed to see John’s head poking out from the blankets, hair mussed more than usual. His suit was draped over the end of the bed in what Paul was sure was at least an attempt at folding. _Smart choice,_ Paul thought, feeling his belt digging into the side of his hip.

  
  


Paul was relieved that he was asleep still—it meant they didn’t have to talk, even if he was just prolonging the inevitable. He sat up. A blanket that he didn’t remember grabbing in the middle of the night fell from around him, and he shoved it off.

  
  


He would take a shower and head downstairs, he decided, instead of waiting around for John to wake up. Do something productive. ( _Avoid John,_ his mind helpfully pointed out, and he chose to ignore it.)

  
  


He began to stand and winced. 

  
  


First, painkillers. 

  
  


By the time he was out of the shower and heading downstairs, the medicine had already started to kick in. He clicked on the kettle in the kitchen and settled into a chair with a sigh. He was not looking forward to obsessing for the next hour and a half until anyone else got up, but he left his phone and that bloody book upstairs, so there wasn’t much he could do. 

  
  


“Hello?”

  
  


_ Oh, thank God. _

  
  


A tiny head poked itself around the corner and stared at him with wide eyes. “Hi, Paul.”

  
  


“Hey, luv. Didn’t realise you were up. D’you want a cuppa?”

  
  


“No thanks,” she said, shuffling into the kitchen. She wore a pair of rumpled pajamas, and her hair was falling out of whatever pinned updo Auntie Jin had put it in last night, but she looked far more awake than Paul felt. 

  
  


“Have you been up long?” he asked, shifting in his seat. She perched herself on his knee and he pulled a few remaining pins out of her hair. 

  
  


“Not long,” she said. “Usually Mummy wakes up early, too, but she’s still sleeping. Everybody's still sleeping. I was getting bored.”

  
  


Paul chuckled. “I know the feeling. I’m gonna make myself a cuppa, and then maybe we can make some brekkie for everyone, yeah?”

  
  


She squinted at him suspiciously. “What kind of breakfast?”

  
  


“Er...pancakes?”

  
  


She grinned at him, and Paul began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Well, I don’t know where they keep the chocolate chips in this house, or even if they have any, and anyways I don’t think that it would be very nice if we took Angela’s grandmother’s chocolate without asking her first.”

  
  


“We took her flour and sugar and milk without asking,” Reese pointed out, arms crossed, and Paul blinked. 

  
  


“Well, yes, but...y'know...”

  
  


“How’s that any different?”

  
  


Paul paused, scrambling desperately for an answer. He glanced down and flipped the first pancakes so they wouldn’t burn. “Chocolate’s special?” he tried.

  
  


Reese considered for a moment before nodding. “I guess you’re right. I wouldn’t like someone taking my chocolate without asking.”

  
  


“Exactly. Pass me two plates, would you, luv?” he asked. She handed them to him, and he put one pancake on each. “Chefs eat first,” he said with a wink, and she grinned. 

  
  


They ate their breakfast and continued cooking the rest of the pancakes, placing them on a plate in the oven to keep them warm. By the time they had gotten down to the final few, half the household was up and eating already. 

  
  


“Should we wake up the others?” Auntie Milly asked.

  
  


“Let ‘em starve,” Jim said, and she laughed. 

  
  


Paul and Reese had just settled down to sit with the rest of the family when John walked into the kitchen. Paul felt a surge of nerves as John’s gaze stopped on him. “Morning,” he said, his voice brittle. 

  
  


“Morning, luv,” he said, sounding chipper. “What’s for breakfast?”

  
  


“Pancakes,” Paul said.

  
  


“Made by our favourite cousins!” Auntie Jin added.

  
  


“Hey!” Mike protested, and Angela patted his hand with a laugh. 

  
  


“Perfect,” John said. “I’m starved.” He grinned at Paul and walked toward the kitchen, grabbing a plate. He served himself and sat in the seat next to Reese. As he was about to eat, he glanced up to see Paul still staring at him intently. His eyebrows furrowed. “You alright?” He asked.

  
  


“I...yeah,” Paul said, shaking his head. “Of course. Sorry. Just tired.”

  
  


John turned back to his plate and began to eat. Paul’s mind raced, trying to figure him out. Why didn’t John seem affected? Of course, he didn’t  _want_ John to be upset, but surely even if John didn’t care about what had happened the night before he would have had some sort of reaction, felt awkward or uncomfortable or _something_. He could have been happy about what had happened, Paul supposed, but then wouldn’t he have said something? Wouldn’t he have talked to Paul or tried to reassure him?

  
  


It was only as everyone had finished and began to get up and head to their rooms to pack that a third option came to mind. His heart stopped as he turned to John, acting as though nothing had happened, walking up the stairs at his side. 

  
  


John didn’t remember.

  
  
  
  
  


John and Paul met George and Ritchie in front of their platform. Ritch looked alright. George was wearing a rather dark pair of sunglasses. 

  
  


“Good morning, our dearest Georgie!” John said, manhandling him into a side-hug. George grumbled angrily at him, at least two of the words sounding something like ‘fuck’. 

  
  


“Morning, Ringo,” Paul said with a grin.

  
  


Ringo sighed and rolled his eyes. “The nickname’s stuck now, has it?”

  
  


“But of course,” John said, releasing George. They began to board the train. “How could we just let it go? It’s so fitting.”

  
  


“I mean, you do have _so many rings_ ,” Paul added. George stuck his tongue out at them as he slid into his seat. Ringo sat next to him and Paul and John sat on the other side, facing them. 

  
  


Halfway through the train ride, when the four of them were running out of things to talk about and George was dozing against the window, Paul turned to John. “Weren’t you drawing me last trip?”

  
  


John scratched the back of his neck and turned away. “I mean, yeah,” he said.

  
  


“Did you finish it? Can I see?”

  
  


“I don’t know,” John mumbled. 

  
  


“Oh, come on, Johnny,” Ringo said. “I’d like to take a look, too, ta.”

  
  


“Fine,” he said, tugging the sketchbook out of his bag. “It’s not very good, though; Klaus was always better at realism than the rest of us.”

  
  


“Which one was Klaus again?” Paul asked, taking the sketchbook from his hands and flipping it open.

  
  


“The German one?”

  
  


Paul gave him a look. “John, half the kids in your school were German.” He looked down at the paper. “Oh,” he breathed.

  
  


“Well, Christ, at least be a bit more constructive than that,” John said, flushing. He reached to take it from Paul.

  
  


“No!” Paul said. “No, no, it’s _excellent_.” His fingers brushed over the smooth graphite, in awe of how much it looked like the face he saw in the mirror every morning. Far more sophisticated, in fact, than the bleary-eyed stare he was usually met with. He grinned. “You’ve not finished me eyebrow or me hair, yet, though.” 

  
  


“Yeah, yeah,” John said, rolling his eyes. He looked as though he was trying to hold back a grin.

  
  


“Let us see,” Ritchie said, holding out his hands. Paul handed it to him. “Oh, Johnny, that’s damn good.” 

  
  


“Thanks, Ritch,” he said. He was still blushing, Paul noticed with a grin, although something told him it was for different reasons than before. 

  
  


Ringo handed it back to Paul, who stared at it for a few more seconds. “It really is good, John,” he reassured him. 

  
  


“Thank you.”

  
  


“And such a romantic gesture,” Ritchie teased. 

  
  


Paul quickly slammed the sketchbook shut, face growing warm, and handed it back to John. “Come on, Ritch, don't.”

  
  


“Sorry,” he said. “Touchy subject after the divorce?” John and Paul both shot him matching glares, and he held up his hands in defense. “Alright, alright. Come on, I think we’re reaching our transfer station.”

  
  
  
  
  


“We’ll see you lads later, yeah?” Ritchie said.

  
  


“Of course,” John said. 

  
  


“Get some rest, Georgie. You too, Ringo,” Paul said. Ritchie shook his head with a wry grin. They waved and headed off toward their car. 

  
  


“Well,” John said, turning to face Paul. Paul felt his heart pick up speed, noticing how close they were standing. He took a half-step back and cleared his throat. “It sure has been weird, I’ll give you that,” John continued. 

  
  


Paul forced a laugh. “You can say that again.”

  
  


They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Paul cleared his throat again. “I should get back home, make sure the neighbours haven’t killed poor Martha,” he said. 

  
  


“Right, right. Of course. See you later?”

  
  


“Sure.” He paused a moment. “Goodbye, John.”

  
  


“Bye, Paul.”

  
  


The two of them parted ways, heading in opposite directions toward their cars. Paul loaded his suitcase in the boot and got into his seat with a sigh. He barely wasted a moment in getting out his keys, starting the engine, leaving the car park and the trip and Wales and everything behind him. 

  
  


As he began the drive back home, he didn’t look behind him once. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hate to say it, Georgie, but...a deal’s a deal.” Ritchie glanced away from the road to hold out his hand. 

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“Wedding’s over. They’re not together. Ten quid.”

  
  


“Well, we don’t _know_ that they’re not together,” George protested weakly, and Ritchie levelled him with a look. 

  
  


“Don’t give me that. They were leaning in opposite directions on the seats like it’d burn if their elbows touched. Something happened there, and it was not good.” 

  
  


“Alright, alright.” George went digging in his pocket for his wallet. “D’you think they’ll work it out?”

  
  


“No idea, George,” Ritch said. He sighed, staring at the road ahead. He just wanted to get back home. 

  
  
  
  
  


Paul settled back into the rhythm of things with careful ease. He liked the routine, a schedule he knew and memorised—get up, go to work, teach students he was barely ten years older than, go home, walk the dog, eat, sleep. As long as he kept his mind and hands busy, he didn’t have to think of what had happened at the wedding. Of John. He could put it out of his mind in favour of marking the rather poor essays he had received from his most recent assignment, and of making a lesson plan to teach them how to cite their bloody sources. 

  
  


He had picked up a few calls from Mike and Angela, on holiday in Greece somewhere. They were doing well, enjoying the last few days of their honeymoon before having to return home. His father called once, too. George, Ritchie, and John had all called, but he hadn’t picked up. 

  
  


Every time he saw their names on the screen, it made his stomach churn with nerves. He just texted, said that sorry, he was _really_ busy right now, but could he talk with them at a later date?

  
  


He should have known that wouldn’t last very long. 

  
  


It was a Saturday, two weeks after the wedding had taken place, when he heard a knock at the door. He hadn’t been expecting Mike and Angela to stop by so quickly after coming back home—didn’t they only arrive back in Liverpool an hour or two ago? Surely they wanted to relax a little while, at least. 

  
  


He swung open the door, ready to tell them to go home and rest, and blinked. “Oh.”

  
  


“Oh?” John said. “That’s it?”

  
  


“I, er...hello?” he tried.

  
  


John sighed. “Can I come in?”

  
  


“Yes, yes, right. Sorry, of course.” Paul swung open the door wider and John stalked into the flat, shoulders tense. His glasses sat askew on his nose. He looked somewhere in between angry and upset, an expression usually saved for when he was confused. Paul nudged a couple of papers on his settee to the side. “Care to sit down?”

  
  


John opened his mouth for a moment, looking as though he was about to fight back (and what in that statement was he going to fight, Paul wondered), but closed it again and dropped down into the seat. “You haven’t called,” he said finally. 

  
  


“Yes, I’m—I’m sorry about that. The supply teacher really did a right mess of things, and I’ve been busy trying to get the students caught up on what they missed.”

  
  


“You were gone for two days, Paul.”

  
  


“Two days is a long time, for some students,” he said. 

  
  


“Paul, Jesus Christ. I’m not daft, okay?” John pressed his face in his hands. His next words were slightly muffled, but Paul could still hear them, hear the strange hurt in his tone. “If you didn’t want to talk anymore, then you could’ve just said it.”

  
  


“What?” 

  
  


“You didn’t have to string me along,” John said. His voice was beginning to raise in frustration. “I _know_ what happened was weird and I’ve been trying to give you space but if it was _that weird_ that you don’t want to talk to me again, then you could have just said it!”

  
  


“If _what_ was that weird?” Paul’s volume matched his.

  
  


“Don’t give me that shite, you know damn well what I’m—you don’t remember?” 

  
  


“ _You_ don’t remember!” Paul shouted desperately, his mind blurred with confusion.

  
  


“What are you talking about?”

  
  


“You don’t remember, I thought—I thought you didn’t remember!” 

  
  


“Of course I remember, how could I forget?” John asked him incredulously, standing up to match Paul. 

  
  


“Well, you didn’t _say_ anything, and you acted like everything was fine, and—” Paul raked a hand through his hair. “I thought you didn’t remember! Why didn’t you say anything?”

  
  


“ _You’re_ the one who pushed me away!” John pointed out. “You’re the one who slept on the bloody floor! You obviously had a problem with it and I didn’t want to make anything weirder for you—your whole bloody family was there! What, was I supposed to turn to you in the middle of brunch and lean over your little cousin and say, ‘Hey, remember when we _made out last night_?! What was _that_ all about?’”

  
  


“I don’t know!” Paul shouted. He dropped his head in his hands. After a few seconds, he glanced back up again. “Hang on, why do you think I had a problem with it?”

  
  


“You _pushed me away_!” John said. “I figured that was a pretty straightforward way of saying that you weren’t into it!”

  
  


“I pushed you away because we were drunk!” Paul said. 

  
  


“I—oh,” John said, suddenly quiet. He sat back down on the settee, looking deep in thought. “Were you—” Despite the yelling that had just gone on, he sounded strangely bashful. “Did you have a problem with it, then?”

  
  


“No,” Paul said, sitting down beside him. “Did you?”

  
  


“No.” John blinked at him. Paul could see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are we really that stupid?”

  
  


Paul grinned, feeling the weight that had been settled in his chest for two weeks begin to lift. “Yes.”

  
  


“This could have been solved with one easy conversation?”

  
  


“Yes.”

  
  


“We’ve wasted two weeks?”

  
  


“Yes.”

  
  


John nudged his glasses farther up his face. “Do you want to do it again? Not the whole two weeks thing,” he amended quickly, “nor the fight. Was it a fight? I dunno, it wasn’t very pleasant, either way. I meant more—”

  
  


Paul surged forward and kissed him. 

  
  


It was hardly as smooth as their first kiss—Paul nearly lost his balance, scrambling to brace himself on the back of the settee. John’s glasses dug against his cheekbone. Their teeth clicked together, and he could feel John smile against his lips, felt himself do the same. It was clearer, though, sharper, their minds no longer clouded through a haze of alcohol or late hours. They broke apart, and John adjusted his glasses.

  
  


“Well,” he breathed. “At least we won’t have to tell your family we broke up in a month.”

  
  


Paul laughed. “Oh, God, we’re going to have to use the New Year’s Party as our get-together story for everyone except Ritchie and Geo.”

  
  


“Well, what’s the matter with that, then?” John asked, affronted. “I thought it was _very_ romantic, I’ll have you know.”

  
  


“Well, sure. A bit on the cheesy side, though. Besides, everyone’s going to be wondering why we’ve been hiding our relationship for six months.”

  
  


“You’ve really backed us into a corner, Macca,” John teased. 

  
  


Paul groaned, dropping his head on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

  
  


John nudged him. “Eh, can’t be too bad. I got someone very special out of the deal.”

  
  


Paul raised his head, the traces of a blush forming on his cheeks. “John, I—”

  
  


“I mean, Reese is such a _darling_ ; when can we see her again?”

  
  


Paul shoved his shoulder with a grin. “She lives in Ireland, you prick. Hell of a trip just to babysit her for a few hours.”

  
  


John hummed. “Speaking of Ritch and Geo,” he said, “you should probably call them. They were rather worried too, y’know. Didn’t pick up their calls, either.”

  
  


“I know, I’m sorry,” Paul said. “I just...I needed some time, y’know?”

  
  


“Yeah,” John said. “I know. They will, too. You’ve just got to actually give them a bleedin’ call, first. _God_ , they’re going to make fun of us.”

  
  


“I will,” Paul said, “in just a minute. Got something to do first.”

  
  


“What?” John asked, eyebrows furrowing. 

  
  


Paul grinned, smoothing his thumb over a line on his cheek. “This,” he said, leaning forward, and he kissed John again. 

  
  


Just because he could. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a [tumblr](https://marconiandcheese.tumblr.com/) so feel free to (validate me) interact with me if you'd like!
> 
> Now onto our regularly scheduled rambling!  
> In regards to language - 'leanbh' and 'thaisce' are both Irish terms of affection, translating to 'child' and 'treasure' respectively. I also based this entire fic in Swansea so I could get to use some Welsh, but there wasn't ever a circumstance in which I could naturally write it into the story, so. Whoops.  
> The songs used in the story, in order, are 'Blue Days, Black Nights' by Buddy Holly, 'Can't Help Falling In Love' by Elvis Presley, 'That'll Be the Day' by Buddy Holly (which the Quarrymen/Beatles did a cover of), 'Long Tall Sally' by Little Richard (which the Beatles did a cover of), and 'Something in the Way She Moves' by James Taylor. Interesting fact about that last one - James Taylor took the song to Apple Studios in an audition, and Paul and George listened to it, and George liked the opening lyrics so much he used them for 'Something'. Then again, some say that James Taylor took the ending lines from 'I Feel Fine' by the Beatles, so I guess karmically it balances out? Who knows. The title is also from the song, because...it's a really good song, man.  
> One last fun fact - 2000 rubles is actually only like 21 quid, so there really wasn't a whole lot that John, Paul, and Reese could have done. John definitely knew this.


End file.
